


The Bodies

by MundaneChampagne



Series: Love, and Love Alone [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Control Ending, Garrus is sort of a stalker, M/M, Mild themes of suicide, Post-Canon, The Citadel after the war, Turian botany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6888484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4418258">Daisy Chain.</a></p><p>The task of burying the dead after the war is monumental. Someone has to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot sequel to Daisy Chain. Not an ending, and not a beginning, but the beginning of something else.

The Citadel was too bright after everything, after all the days of dust and haze and smoke and the fucking Reapers.

Shepard had done something. All Garrus knew was that she had made it, made it to the Citadel at the last possible moment. Many long minutes later, everything froze.

And the Reapers lifted up into the sky, away from Earth, away from Palaven, and the worlds they infested. An apotheosis of machine, they remained long enough only to fix a few things, and then were gone.

Shepard was gone too. The bodies of David Anderson and Jack Harper (more commonly known as the Illusive Man) were discovered near the Crucible's controls. But Shepard wasn't among them.

Nobody could explain it. Garrus had a few theories, but nobody asked his opinion.

That much was clear when the Hierarchy elevated him to the rank of First General of Palaven—foremost military commander of the Hierarchy's armies, and second only to the Primarch. There wasn't much fighting to do lately, of course. His job consisted mostly of organizing relief, reconstruction, and resettling displaced people. He would never say it aloud, but he was afraid that he was better at war than at peace.

He took his lunch break every day to walk the Presidium. He could eat lunch while he was going over forms, but an hour of uninterrupted time to himself was harder to come by. He'd sometimes stop at the C-Sec offices, and talk with Bailey. Talk about anything other than the recovery. Garrus had grown to respect the C-Sec commander a great deal.

Especially in the face of his grizzly task. When the Reapers had taken the Citadel, husks moved throughout the wards, killing anyone who tried to resist. Crews were still pulling bodies out. The task of cataloging and IDing all the dead was monumental. Plazas were roped off, and the body bags were laid out in neat rows, waiting for someone to tend to them. It was mostly C-Sec grunts, employees at the bottom of the food chain.

Which was why Garrus started one day when he saw a familiar face kneeling next to a body bag, entering data into an omnitool.

He stopped only a moment, to get a better look. After that, he vanished into Bailey's office as quickly as he could.

Bailey looked up from his computer, a half-eaten sandwich sitting next to him. "Vakarian," he said. Bailey always dispensed with formal titles, for which Garrus was exceedingly glad. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Who's that out there with the bodies?" Garrus asked.

"The turian? That's Sidonis," Bailey said. "The guy walked into the station one day and tried to get us to charge him with murder. The crime took place on Omega though, no government to extradite him to. So we put him to work." Bailey leaned a bit closer and dropped his voice. "You ask me, the guy's a damned hero. Saved a bunch of rookies who froze up during the Cerberus coup."

"I—" Garrus hesitated. "I knew him. Back on Omega."

"Yeah?" Bailey took a bite of the sandwich. "You should say hi," he said through the mouthful of food. "Guy's pretty gloomy, he could probably use a pick-me-up. Especially with all these bodies. He's been at it for weeks." He swallowed, and a shadow passed over his face. "We all have."

Garrus thumped his shoulder. "You're doing good," he said. "It won't go on forever."

Bailey snorted. "Not for me," he said. "You? I don't envy you."

Garrus straightened up. "Yeah. Well." He turned to leave. "Take care."

"You too."

He didn't know if he wanted to see Sidonis. To talk to him—maybe to apologize? It had been so long. They'd left things on shitty terms.

Garrus still remembered that night after Shepard had blocked his shot. He'd locked himself up in the battery, not wanting to talk to anyone. Cried, for a while. Admitted to himself that he still loved Lantar, and would give anything to hold him in that moment and tell him it would be ok.

That night seemed so long ago. He hadn't even known if Sidonis had survived the war. And now, here he was.

Garrus's feet froze in place.

Here he was. Surrounded by the dead. This was going to be awkward. And Garrus walked over and ducked under the yellow rope, before he could change his mind.

He wasn't even sure how to address him—Sidonis? Lantar? Hey You? He wound his way through the grid of body bags, shiny black bags laying out on the floor (he didn't count them because that would have been devastating) until he was standing in front of Sidonis.

"Lantar," he said. His heart pounded.

Sidonis glanced up. There wasn't any visible reaction on his face, just a hesitation. His eyes trailed over Garrus, and he must've noticed the insignia on Garrus's armor. "General," he said. "I'd salute," he said after another moment, "but I'm extremely busy right now."

"I understand," Garrus said, and hesitated, not sure whether to turn and walk away. When he finally did, he nodded. "Good luck."

"Sir." Sidonis's voice was flat. Garrus suddenly recalled how easily Sidonis hid his emotions. It made him want to shake the man. Instead, he turned and left.

 

He came back the next day—to see Bailey, he told himself, but he chatted quickly with the commander and lingered on the steps by the plaza with the bodies. Sidonis was there again, and once again Garrus ducked under the rope.

"Lantar," he said.

"Sir." Sidonis didn't look up. He stared at his omnitool, glancing down at the body.

"What…all is it that you're doing?" Garrus asked.

"Collecting data. It'll help with identifying people later." Sidonis punched a few things into his omni. "Species; age and gender if I can discern it." He pulled out a probe and carefully inserted it into the charred flesh. "DNA sample, to see if any matches are on file." He removed the probe, and drew the bag back over the body, zipping it up. He moved onto the next one and pulled back the zipper, exposing another body. Garrus winced. He'd seen his share of battlefield carnage, but there was something worse about seeing the dead packed up into the black bags. Someone had had to pull that body out of the wreckage, zip it into the bag, and move it here. It was so—deliberate.

Sidonis was deliberate too. Garrus watched as he took his data. He didn't flinch at the ruined state of the bodies, but he gave each one an equal amount of time and care. He gently handled everything, and seemed to imbue his motions with respect.

Weeks of this, Bailey had said. Weeks of sorting through the dead. Garrus couldn't imagine it. It might've broken him, he thought.

Sidonis didn't seem broken.

 

It was pure selfishness on his part that led him back to Sidonis every day that week. He'd stand there and talk to the air, try to engage Sidonis in conversation. Sidonis never replied with more than a brief phrase, or more maddeningly, "sir" or "general".  

 _Just say my name,_ Garrus screamed internally. _Don't pretend like we're strangers._

But it was all fruitless. He didn't understand why he was doing this, putting himself through this kind of torture, or imposing himself on Sidonis, who obviously didn't want him there.

On one level, Garrus missed him. He'd barely thought of Sidonis during the war and that was fine, at the time he didn't need any distractions. But now—the war was over. Shepard was gone. His life had been upended. And seeing Sidonis brought back so many old memories, emotions. Some that he'd rather not think about. Some that he regretted profoundly. And some that he wouldn't change for the world.

His feelings on the matter were tested strongly one day when he arrived at the plaza and Sidonis wasn't there.

Someone else was among the body bags instead.

He barged into Commander Bailey's office. The commander's head shot up, and he knocked a datapad off his desk in surprise. "Vakarian," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Where's Sidonis?"

Bailey leaned over and scooped up the datapad. "You gave me a fright," he commented. "I thought for a moment that Reapers were busting down the door."

Garrus winced. Everyone's nerves were still frayed in the aftermath of the war. "Sorry," he said. "I was worried."

"He called in sick," Bailey said, leaning back in his chair. He threw the datapad back on the desk, where it landed with a clatter. "Said he might be out for a few days. I'm sure he's fine."

Later, Garrus would've probably said that he knew it was irrational. But in the moment, his stomach clenched. "Where does he live?" he asked.

"I dunno. Why does it matter?"

Garrus shoved Bailey and his chair aside and bent down over the commander's terminal. "A few days, he said? So no one would check on him?"

"I'm sure he—"

"Bailey, he's been suicidal in the past. You said he's been working on the bodies for weeks. I can't—I can't believe that wouldn't get to a person."

"Suit yourself," Bailey shrugged. "I can find his address. Give me a minute."


	2. Chapter 2

And then he was standing in front of Sidonis's door, his heart hammering. It was an average sort of place down in one of the Wards. Not fancy, but not a shithole either.

Garrus hesitated only a moment, then bent down to the door's lock. The security was poor, and he had it open within a minute.

He didn't have any kind of warrant, but he figured he could establish probable cause for a suicide, and that his new position would protect him.

He stepped into the apartment.

It was roomy, but bare. Meticulously organized. There were no plants anywhere, and that disturbed him more than he was comfortable with.

He didn't see Sidonis anywhere. He poked into a side hallway. The bathroom was similarly spotless, and empty.

The bedroom door was cracked, and Garrus carefully opened it, fearing what he might find inside.

Sidonis was sprawled out on the bed, tangled in the covers. He was fast asleep, his breathing slow. As Garrus watched, he suddenly coughed a few times, not waking up.

Oh. So he'd been telling the truth. And Garrus felt foolish for thinking otherwise. He lingered in the door for a moment, unsure. He didn't want to turn around and leave Lantar alone while he was sick.

In the end, Garrus pulled up a chair from the unused desk. He plopped into it, sitting at the edge of the bed, and just waited.

Lantar's sleep was troubled. He rocked back and forth, twisting the sheets around him even more. His mandibles fluttered a little, and he occasionally broke into a bout of shivers.

 _Feverish, then,_ Garrus thought. There was a bottle of medicine sitting on the bedside table, and he picked it up and looked at it.

No sooner had he put the bottle down, then Lantar woke up. His eyes flew open, and he froze as he saw Garrus.

"What the fuck, Garrus?" He pushed himself up. "You can't just barge into someone's apartment like that."

 _Good,_ Garrus thought. _You know my name._ Out loud, he said, "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fucking fine," Lantar snarled, then broke into a fit of coughing.

"Bailey said you'd called in sick—I was afraid that you—that you'd tried to kill yourself."

Lantar sighed and arranged himself into a sitting position. "No," he said. "Not lying. Actually sick."

"Any idea what it is?"

"Just stress, I think," Lantar muttered. "I haven't felt suic—like that in a long time."

"Good." Garrus stared at his lap. The feeling of foolishness returned. "I'll leave you alone. Is there anything I can get you before I go?"

"A glass of water might be good," Lantar muttered. "Since you're here and all."

"No problem." Garrus stood and returned to the kitchen. It was easy to find a clean glass. Everything was so carefully in place, it looked like no one lived here at all.

"Thanks," Lantar said when Garrus handed him the glass. He took a long drink. Garrus hesitated. He didn't want to go quite yet. Lantar noticed, and sighed. "Sit," he said. "I don't think I'm getting back to sleep soon."

Garrus gratefully took a seat. "Is the cough that bad?" he asked. "I could run to the pharmacy and find something stronger—"

"It's not the damn cough," Lantar muttered. He set the glass on the bedside table. "I—I keep having nightmares. For weeks now. Ever since the war ended." _Ever since the bodies,_ Garrus thought.

"I can't sleep," he continued. "I keep dreaming about those body bags—opening them and seeing their faces—my old military squad, our friends; Dion, Shayla, even Aeryn—and I don't even know if Aeryn's dead or not."

The names meant nothing to Garrus. Once again, it occurred to him—two years of being together, and he still knew very little about Lantar beyond those two years.

Lantar shivered suddenly, and Garrus snapped out of that line of thought. "Look," he said. "I'll run and grab you some stuff from the pharmacy. "

"Sure," Lantar muttered, and sank back down into the bed as Garrus left.

When Garrus returned, Lantar was asleep again. Garrus went to drop the bag on the bedside table and leave, but then—

Lantar was actually sleeping soundly.

His mandibles twitched out in a small smile, and he turned away.

"What'd you get?" a groggy voice asked behind him.

Oh. Now he'd gone and woken Lantar up. Garrus sighed. "Some things for the fever and the cough," he said. Lantar obviously needed sleep, and he'd gone and ruined it. He turned around. Lantar was sitting up in bed, peering at him through heavy eyes.

"Are you going?" Lantar asked.

"I—you seemed like you were sleeping well—"

"I—" Lantar looked down at his lap. "I had the dream with the body bags again. But I went to open one, and there was a flower instead of a body." He looked back up. "It was weird. It glowed really brightly. I've never seen any plant do that." He shrugged. "It wasn't a bad dream."

"Wait—it glowed?" Garrus asked. "Kind of a tall straight stalk, yeah?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"That's a lambent flower," Garrus said. "It's native to Palaven." He remembered them, bathing the hills in light. "They close up in the day," he said. "They kinda look like rocks. But they open at night, and they glow. I think it helps attract pollinators." He paused. "There's a botanical garden on the Presidium. I think they have one. Those things can live for hundreds of years."

"I'll have to go see," Lantar said, and he looked up, his face open and less guarded than before. It wasn't a happy look, not quite—but close to it.

"I wanted to tell you something," Garrus said, looking away, unable to meet his gaze. "I've been recalled to Palaven. I'm leaving tomorrow. I just—wanted to let you know."

"Right," Lantar muttered.

"And—I made mistakes. And I'm sorry for everything I put you through." Garrus cleared his throat, shuffled his feet. "I guess I'll be off now. Feel better." He turned to leave.

"Garrus?" Garrus stopped, didn't turn back. There was a pause. "I'm sorry about Shepard."

Garrus jerked his head in a nod. "Yeah," he whispered, and left.

He couldn't look back.


	3. Chapter 3

As Garrus left, Lantar collapsed back on the bed and tried to think about flowers, rather than any of the other ugly emotions spinning in his head.

He was glad Garrus was gone. Relieved. Certainly not a little disappointed.

It was too late to change what had happened. That ship had sailed. Their relationship was over, and Garrus didn't seem to know it.

He knew it all too well.

 

He drifted in and out of sleep, in that feverish kind of dream state where he wasn't sure whether he was awake or asleep at some points. At one point, he shot straight up in bed, thinking that he was late to work and that Bailey would kill him. The panic lasted for a good few minutes before he saw the time and realized that no, he was ok. Bailey knew he was off. Everything was fine.

Everything wasn't fine. Because sooner or later, he'd have to go back to cataloguing the bodies. Back to the nightmares. Back to the revulsion that he'd have to swallow down, and back to the grief over so many lost.

Back to reliving that awful moment, every time he opened a bag. Opening that _specific_ bag and finding Shayla, her usually cheerful face wearing a frown in death.

Not being able to do anything, and having to walk away and confront hundreds of more anonymous dead.

Lantar hated his life right now. And for the first time in a while, his unhappiness had nothing to do with his ex who'd just walked out the door.

He was still grieving, and he only realized later that Garrus was too. Shepard.

But he knew about Shepard, and Garrus didn't know about Shayla. Garrus had no idea what he'd just lost.

That first night after cataloguing the dead, he'd staggered back to his apartment and thrown up in the sink and collapsed on his bed, just crying. Crying over that asari who'd insisted on befriending him, despite his stubbornness and his fears, and had given him so much until he'd dared to forget the war and believe that he might be happy again.

And now she was dead. He was alone in the world, again, and Garrus's intrusion only served to remind him of that.

 

Lantar slept through the next day and awoke on the third. He was feeling better, but he let Bailey know that he would be taking one more day off.

There was something he needed to do.

He walked along the Presidium, still with that old feeling that he didn't belong there, but it was less now. He marveled at how life continued; there was construction, people bustling all over, a sense of purpose in the air. The war was over. Life was going to continue. And people were amazingly resilient.

Well, some people were. Lantar wasn't one of them.

He pushed the thought out of his head.

The botanical garden was there, just as Garrus said it would be. A graceful glass dome soaring underneath the artificial sky. The main doors were done in beautiful wrought ironwork to match the frame underneath the glass. They were also shut.

A message was posted on the doors. "CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE."

Of course. Regrouping from the war, and all that shit. Lantar wasn't in a mood to just slink away. He decided to take a leaf out of Garrus's book and ignore it.

He pounded on the doors. A few minutes later, an asari opened them an inch. "Didn't you see the sign?" she said through the gap. "I don't know when we'll be open again. I'm sorry about the inconvenience."

"I won't be long," Lantar said. "I was told you have a lambent flower. I've never seen one before."

There was a pause, and the asari opened the door all the way. She was dressed in dirty coveralls, and looked extremely tired. "As long as you're not some tourist who's going to waste my whole day, I guess I can show you," she said. She angled her head. "Follow me."

The garden was beautiful. Artificial sunlight streamed through the glass panes, and was diluted by the amount of foliage so that it was a dappled light by the time it reached the ground. Paths wound through plants of all sorts. Lantar immediately thought that this was like heaven, and had a second thought that Shayla would've liked it—she'd always complained about the crowds and dragged him up to the Presidium parks. If she was still alive, he would've taken her here.

They wound through the paths. "These are tropical plants from Earth," the asari explained, and then the foliage changed and everything was stout and silver instead of big and green. "And this is the southern hemisphere of Palaven. The climates are very similar, but the flora is extremely different." She reached out and touched a knobby tree branch. "Palaveni flora has very distinct morphologies in order to deal with the high radiation."

"I've never been there," Lantar said.

"If you went, you wouldn't be able to turn your head for seeing a lambent flower," she said, and stopped before what appeared to be a large grey boulder. It was very regular in shape, however, giving away that it wasn't a rock. "The leaves curl around it during the day," she explained. "Once again, to protect the more delicate parts from radiation. But at night—"

She pulled up her omnitool and keyed in a few strokes, and the glass panes blacked out. They stood in the halflight for a moment, and Lantar watched in fascination as the sides of the plant slowly rolled down towards the ground, and a stalk uncurled from within. It was surprisingly delicate in contrast to its exterior. A faint glow came from the flower as it unfurled.

"The lambent flower attracts nocturnal insects for pollination," the asari explained. "They're drawn towards its light, which has a different spectra from artificial light. They're not affected by light pollution at all. They can be incredibly long-lived," she added. "This specimen dates back to the Morning War."

"Wow."

She smiled. "Really gives you hope that if a plant can endure like that, we may be able to come back from this tragedy with similar grace."

They stood in silence for a moment. Then she brought up her omnitool and the glass became transparent once again. The sun streamed in, and the lambent flower quickly tucked the stalk away and drew up its leaves, once again becoming an unremarkable lump.

"So why are you closed?" Lantar asked. "There doesn't seem to have been much damage."

She sighed in response. "The funding dried up. We couldn't keep on enough staff to continue to stay open to the public, and I lost most of my volunteers." She smiled thinly. "Horticulture just isn't a priority when war rolls around. I'm the only one here right now, and I've been working day and night just to keep everything maintained."

He nodded. "I know the feeling. I was thinking about taking some time off from my current job. It's just—too overwhelming right now. If you have the time—I mean, if you need someone—I'd be interested in volunteering." He shrugged. "I used to have a big collection of houseplants. Kinda miss them."

She nodded. "Lost them to the war then?" Not exactly, Lantar thought, but didn't interrupt. "It would mean a lot to me," she continued. "This is my passion and life's work right here. I don't want to lose it."

"I understand."

"What do you do for a living?" she asked.

"I work support for C-Sec. I've been cataloguing bodies ever since the war ended."

"Goddess," the asari said. "You're braver than I am."

Lantar shook his head.

 

He spoke to Commander Bailey, he dropped back to working part time.

He spent the rest of his time in the winding paths between flora that engulfed him, swallowed him, and helped make him a little more whole. He learned the scientific names, he learned how to care for and maintain plants from all over the galaxy, he learned plant structures—stages of growth—methods of reproduction—how to propagate them, and breed for new strains.

A month went by.

One day, the asari came up to him. "I just got word from a colleague at the University of Cipritine," she said. "He's looking for support staff for the horticulture department there. They're working overtime trying to help with food shortages in and around the capital. I recommended you for the position."

Lantar's jaw fell open. "I—I appreciate it—but I don't know if I could—"

She snorted. "You hate your job, right?" she said. "You obviously love working with the plants. And you'd get to go to Palaven and study its plants in their native habitats." Her face softened. "I recommended you, but it's obviously your decision. I would hate to lose you, but this could be an incredible opportunity."

He went to Bailey and resigned the next day, and was on a shuttle to Palaven the next, his heart hammering, a packet of seeds for Palaveni food plants in his bag, his contact's name in his omnitool, his old life of shame and grief laid aside.

* * *

 

Adrien was on the line. Privately, Garrus thought the Primarch looked older than ever. "Vakarian," he said. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," Garrus replied. He glanced around his new quarters. They were spare, located in a military complex in downtown Cipritine—an old library building that had been spared by the Reapers and now housed the entire Palaveni government.

"I'll be arriving in the city in a few hours," Adrien continued. "Get ready for a lot of late nights, General. There's so much to do that sometimes I doubt even the might of the Hierarchy can handle it." He sighed and shook his head. "The turian people are strong, but we've never had to recover from an attempted genocide on the galactic level before."

"We can get it done," Garrus said. "I have faith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an ending, and not a beginning, but maybe something else will happen down the line.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. <3
> 
> I have plans for the future, but no idea when they might manifest.


End file.
